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Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the river
—swinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled
under-brush,
Or while I swim in the bath, or drink from the pump
at the corner—or the curtain is down at the
opera, or I glimpse at a woman's face in the
railroad car,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and
giving them to be mine.

314. Old age superbly rising! O welcome, ineffable grace
of dying days!

315. Every condition promulges not only itself—it promulges
what grows after and out of itself,
And the dark hush promulges as much as any.

316. I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled
systems,
And all I see, multiplied as high as I can cipher, edge
but the rim of the farther systems.

317. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always
expanding,
Outward, outward, and forever outward.

318. My sun has his sun, and round him obediently
wheels,
He joins with his partners a group of superior circuit,
And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest
inside them.